Tainted Loyalties
by searinox
Summary: EDITED AND UPDATED Ginevra Weasley has been newly enlisted into the Death Eater Ranks. What is it she seeks, and what does it have to do with Draco? Where do either of their loyalties lie and do those loyalties have any chance of remaining constant?
1. Beginnings

**Tainted Loyalties**

Summary: Ginevra Weasley has been newly enlisted into the Death Eater Ranks along with some fellow students. What is it she seeks, and what does it have to do with Draco? Where do either of their loyalties lie- and do those loyalties have any chance of remaining constant through all they are put through, both individually and together?

It was cool. The whole year had generally run cooler than was normal. A crisp breeze blew through the yellowing leaves, sending a chorus of scratched, dead, notes on the wind that shifted the cloaks around the ankles of those present in the little clearing in the forest. To some there, the sound of the leaves had a tone that excited, the bristle of what had once been green reminding them of how they would soon be able to go forth in the name of the Dark Lord and cause death among the masses, so that human corpses were as frequent on the ground as the brown, dry leaves. To others, the sound of the leaves was like a mournful dirge, wailing piteously how life was so short, how it seemed just yesterday that they had been green and lively. To all present, this night would alter their lives forever more, whether for better or for worse. For this was the night they had finally been called to serve the Dark Lord, the night they had finally been called to be one of his faithful. The night they would all receive the Dark Mark.

He was there. Standing in the middle, waiting for the last stragglers to come. He had carefully picked this group. Tired of having pathetic sycophants who did nothing more than bungle up his orders in pathetic attempts to curry his favor, he had specially chosen only the most intelligent, devious, cunning, and ambitious out there. They were all young, all still in school. Many attended Hogwarts. Many did not. They were well-chosen, and they would serve him well.

It became apparent that all had arrived who were going to. One person had failed to show up; a seventh-year Durmstrang student, who had been infected by a pathetic fear and resulting disloyalty and disobedience to the Dark Lord. Voldemort would personally kill him later. No matter; he had not been one of the people he had most anxiously awaited. One in particular would surprise everyone there. But Voldemort knew that he had chosen well. All of his new servants would do their duty well, of that much he was certain.

The ceremony could commence.

All of them stood in a circle, none daring to show the chill that wracked their bodies- some chilled from fear, some from anxiety, some from excitement, and for one simply the coolness of the wind. He stood in the middle of them all; beside him, a small cauldron of obsidian, resting upon a stand with three narrow legs, with a long-stemmed ladle of the same material. The cauldron was of such a black that when eyes fell upon it the cool stone seemed to absorb the very warmth of the body, the very life from the soul. Nothing but evil had ever been procured in that cauldron.

"Frederick Bethesda." One of the hooded figures stepped forward from the circle; those remaining shuffled silently so as to fill the gap. The young man stepped towards the center, towards the cauldron, towards Him, with sure, confident steps. After a moment, in which he bowed deeply, Bethesda extended his left arm, fingers lightly curled to rest on the up-turned palm. The ladle was drawn out of the cauldron.

Voldemort grabbed Bethesda's wrist and stretched it over the crimson liquid that lay within. The ladle tilted, and Bethesda barely kept his screams in check as incredible pain shattered his body. His fingers clenched tightly over his palm. Eyes shut, he made no sound, but as the Dark Mark appeared on his arm, his breathing continued to be heavy. He dropped his arm, then bowed deeply. His crunching footsteps on the dead leaves amongst the withered blades of grass seemed oddly out of place. So normal a sound in so enchanted, so ethereal, so darkly unreal a situation.

The procedure was identical for Blaise Zabini, Jerome Stravinsky, Eydis Flameheart, Chris Belltide, Lana Holmes, Daniel Stanford, Anna Darkwater, and Jonathan Min. Most were silent as the terrible pain hit them with shocking suddenness. Jerome Stravinsky and Chris Belltide gasped once then were silent. Anna Darkwater gave the tiniest of whimpers. Lana Holmes had a single tear on her hooded face when she turned away from Voldemort.

Then Draco was called. For a while, he has doubted. He has decided, for a time, that he did not want to be in the servitude on another. But now he saw that it was not servitude- it was a partnership. The Death Eaters did the work, some of it quite enjoyable, and the Dark Lord gave them riches, power, and prestige.

Draco walked confidently to the center of the circle. He looked the Dark Lord into the eyes, and did not withdraw his gaze even as he bowed. Draco saw power in those eyes. Power that soon would be shared with him. The Dark Lord had many promises to Draco. He, in turn, would have to do a great many services to the Dark Lord; but it would be well worth it.

There were some things you weren't taught in school. Voldemort offered that knowledge to Draco.

He also offered it to another.

That was what had drawn _her_ here. She was not interested in murdering helpless people, though she'd do it if ordered. She did not lust after wealth, though would gladly take it if offered it in reward. What she sought was knowledge- a knowledge she has gotten a taste of in her first year but had been denied ever since. She turned and saw Draco walking back to his place in the circle, the robed figures moving about to accommodate his returning presence. It was her turn.

"Ginevra Weasley."

None dared to utter a sound of surprise in the presence of their master. None even dared to move, to give any indication of emotion behind their faces masked in darkness. No, there was no physical change in demeanor, no tangible or visible alteration in the way they stood or looked calmly ahead. It was a distinct feeling upon the wind, something in the air that gave the subtle but definite feeling of shock.

_Weasley? Ginny?­ _ The unspoken questions rippled across the clearing with force, seeming to drive the wind out so that not even the sound of the leaves moving in the trees kept Ginevra's quiet footsteps company.

She reached the middle and silently protruded her left arm out from her body, offering her alabaster skin for the Dark Lord to scar. As the thick, crimson liquid fell from the ladle, sizzling upon contact with her skin as with every person before her, she did not so much as give the slightest of flinches or gasps. She was silent and still.

Voldemort was hiding a smile. He sensed their surprise. That was good. It just proved all the more to him that Ginny had been a good choice. All he had to give to her was knowledge, share with her some power. She, in turn, would be able to give him information on Potter and Dumbledore. He noted also, this time having more difficulty hiding his amusement, that never before had he had such a beautiful servant. _If only I were a mere mortal_, he thought perversely, _the things I would do…_ But he was not a mere mortal, and he had more important things to do than to note how attractive the women under his influence were.

Every one of them could now call themselves a Death Eater. They were now officially in the service of Voldemort. He would give them what they sought, and they in turn would use all of their cunning to further his plans. They would do well. They would do better than any others in his ranks. The only thing that left the remotest of questions was the loyalty of a few, but Voldemort was not given to simply picking initiates who might, at any time, turn on him. He had chosen well.

Voldemort stepped forward, giving them a little speech, one that they had all expected. He spoke of how they were now officially Death Eaters, how they should maintain their covers and not flaunt their position, how they would help the Dark and would receive rewards beyond which they had ever dreamed of.

The _words_ were not terribly exciting. The _things_ Voldemort told them were nothing new to them. But it was the way he spoke. Voldemort's voice painted for them such pictures that they could actually see themselves reaping all the rewards they had ever wanted, they could imagine their prey falling before their feet like leaves from a tree, the decaying process beginning before they even hit the ground. His powerful voice, though not loud, carried with it strength and elegance, so that his new followers hung on his every word. He could convince the greediest man to give away his last penny, and he could talk his way out of getting in trouble for blowing up a bridge in broad daylight. His voice, both seductive and abhorrent, could break the strongest of minds with a few mere words. He could flatter and insult, bewitch and beguile. His tempting tones held a power than no other mortal held- the power that every leader strives to perfect. The power to enchant with a word, to hook people onto every statement you utter. Voldemort could have been telling his Death Eaters that grass was blue and the moon was made of green cheese, and they would still have been enraptured by his voice. _Good,_ Voldemort thought. _This is how I want them to be right now, as I tell them what exactly they are to do in the following weeks as my plans unfold themselves._

He stopped his speech and began to address each one personally.

"Stravinsky."

"My Lord."

"You will keep an eye out for others at Durmstrang who might be good choices for placement in the Death Eater ranks. I want courage, loyalty, and cleverness. Also, keep an eye on that fool who betrayed me. I want to know if he does anything, understand? Report on the headmaster, too. It will be interesting to see how much Dumbledore is telling other schools."

"It will be done , My Lord."

"Then go now, and go in the knowledge that your every action is now performed with a desire to further the Dark."

With that, Jerome dissapparated. Voldemort continued in this manner with every other there. Everyone's orders were much the same. Look for new recruits. Watch the headmaster or headmistress. A few had special things to do, things that appeared to make sense only to the ones receiving the orders, for names and places were mentioned that were foreign to everyone else.

Eventually Blaise was sent, with much the same orders as everyone else, so that there was only Draco and Ginny who were left in the clearing.

"Mr. Malfoy. I have a rather unusual request for you. I have found myself under the belief that your father does not serve me as faithfully as he would have me believe."

"I understand, My Lord."

"Good. I would like to know anything he does in my name, anytime you think something is odd in his behavior. If he has something he thinks is more vital than loyalty to me, either take care of it or report it to me. Go now and serve me well."

Ginny found herself quite alone.

"My dear, Ginevra. You I have chosen specially. You seek not power or wealth, only knowledge. That is what I can give the most easily. You do a few things for me, and as you report and aide me, so too will I aide you. I can quench the thirst which has parched your soul these five years. I can give you all the knowledge that you seek- I will explain everything that you saw through Tom Riddle and more. I will tell you of the magic that made the diary work, and the magic behind why I was not able to touch Harry Potter's skin. I will tell you how I grew in power the first time, why it is exactly that I lost it, and why I did not die and have built myself back up. I will teach you the most ancient of all the magic, the magic that does not need a wand or an incantation to work. I will teach you magic at its darkest, magic at its subtlest; I will teach you how to fill your need for power and knowledge yourself."

Ginevra did not speak- and he knew that she was joyed beyond words that Voldemort would do all this for her- he could read the expression clearly oh her face. _Whatever he wants of me,_ she thought, _I must be willing to give it_.

"I want you, in return, to help me gain a little knowledge myself. I want to know how it is that Harry Potter blocks my dreams. His skill at Occlumency is deplorable; it is almost as if there is something else more powerful that guards him, something he may not even know of. I expect that it has something to do with Dumbledore, for Harry's mother can no longer protect him, not now that I, too, have Harry's blood running within me. I need to know what else is guarding him. Dumbledore, too- the old fool tells Potter things that he tells no one else. You must get what you can out of Potter without blowing your cover."

Ginny nodded. "I will do my best."

"But before you go, Ginevra, I give you a gift." She wondered what he would give her. A power? "I give you this necklace. It will enable you to speak with me whenever you wish. Just grasp the pendant and concentrate."

Ginny looked at it. It was beautiful- a delicate chain of silver, long enough so that the elegant pendant could rest beneath her school robes. The pendant itself was a serpent, made out of the same beautiful, pure, silver metal that the chain was. The one eye that showed was of emerald, and beautifully sculpted into shape. The serpent didn't spear to move, but after Ginny looked at the chain for a moment, she could have sworn that the snake had shifted slightly.

"I encourage you to call me- if you are unsure of yourself or on how to proceed, if you want to tell me some vital information you learned, or if you just want to speak with me. I can whisper dark tales of terrible and awesome magic to you as you fall asleep. I can teach you spells of unimaginable power while you appear to study." He smiled. "You will know when I am calling you because the serpent pendant will heat up and begin to move. This will be different than calling you by the Dark Mark."

Ginny was pleased. Very pleased. Beyond pleased. She felt like a little kid does when he has been waiting in line for hours and finally has been allowed onto an exciting ride. She knew that whatever doubts she had previously felt about the sanity of her decision, it had been wise to heed this call. Already she had gained much.

"Go now," Voldemort said to her, "And act in the knowledge that you do so in the name of the Dark Lord. And remember that I am with you whenever you need me."


	2. Beginnings redone

Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing that looks like it could be found in one of Ms Rowling's wonderful books. Also, I think I got the idea for the first chapter from someone else's fic I read on Portkey, but I can't remember exactly the name of it. They start to differ tremendously after the first chapter anyway, but just wanted to give credit to the inspiration.

Chapter One

"Welcome, my Death Eaters- welcome to this secret place." Voldemort paused for a moment, casting a furtive look over us all, as if measuring up our worth in that one glance. "It has been a long time," he continues. "The last time we met here was over a year ago, when many of you were welcomed to my ranks."

Voldemort stepped closer to us, and the silence became greater still as we awaited with baited breath the words that would tell us why we had been summoned here, to this place where only the most solemn occurrences took place.

Any other meetings between Death Eaters or for Voldemort to give us orders were in locations that were just as secret, of course, but much less… meaningful. For we now stood in the shadow of the Riddle House, Voldemort's feet resting on the exact place the cauldron that had given him his second life had once stood.

"Wormtail." The little man jerked slightly. He stepped forward and removed his mask (in this place, we always wore our masks.).

"Yes, my Lord?" I didn't mind smirking behind the cover of my bone mask. Even now, nearly twenty years into Voldemort's service, the simpering fool could not keep his voice steady when he addressed our master.

Master. That word- it carries so much weight. So much power. He is in control of our lives- he orders us to do something, and we do it, no questions asked, not even to each other.

Do we do it out of conviction? Some of us. Do we do it out of fear? Probably most. I do not. I follow him not out of a fanatical belief that we will one day stomp out all the muggles, nor out of horrible fear of what Voldemort will do to those who disobey him. I do it because even before I was a Death Eater I served another master, and lived my life under his terrible reign.

Lucius, my father, had decided as soon as it was apparent I was male that I would follow him into the service of Voldemort. He had already decided that I would be perfect, both an excellent student and a stoic mask that he could wield to get what he wanted done when he dared not reveal his own hand. When I was unable to do what I was ordered to, I was punished. Severely. When I excelled, I was given all the reward I could ever want in the absence of inflicted pain.

It was when I was entering my fifth year that my father had told me that I was to become a Death Eater. Although it was the first time he had mentioned it to me, I had, in a sense, always known. I think it was around that time that I got the idea that it was only because I was a male that I was alive- a little girl would have been gotten rid of barely past conception. Magicked away into nothingness. That idea was not shocking to me, but all the same it made me consider what would happen if I proved to be utterly useless to my father. He would get rid of me, lest I become a danger to him.

I had allowed myself these thoughts while Voldemort was reprimanding Wormtail for something or other, but now that the man had picked himself painfully off of the thin grass and once more joined the ring we formed in the small, graveless clearing, there was nothing else to do, no other petty business to be gotten out of the way before Voldemort told us why we were called there.

He stepped forward and said, "I have a new spy within Hogwarts." The silence continued, as we waited for him to tell us why this was so revolutionary. He had many spies in Hogwarts- practically everyone in Slytherin sixth year and above was a Death Eater. He said nothing for so long we were at last beginning to think that that was it, that he had called us all here to announce- what? That he had a new servant? But then he spread his arms, a signal that he was about to speak, and a silent sigh of relief swept through the clearing.

"My servant is one within the Order of the Phoenix- close, very close to Dumbledore, and even closer to Potter." No one spoke, but somehow the feeling in the graveyard changed from one of anxious anticipation to one of excitement. I did not share it. Instead, I was cursing under my breath that Voldemort had gotten such a prize.

Yes, I was unhappy about this turn of events. I did not want Voldemort to… well, I should say, rather, that I agreed with many of the things Dumbledore did over what Voldemort was doing- it wouldn't be safe to form cohesive, treasonous thoughts in Voldemort's presence. I had to settle for thinking that I had always been under the impression that Voldemort had lost sight of precisely what he was doing.

In the beginning, he had wanted more power. He already had much more than a young boy ordinarily has, and he had a tendency to release the energy inside of him in a way that gave him a very bad reputation around the muggles he was with in the orphanage. He was more than cruel to them and they took their revenge when they could. Because of that, the boy Tom Riddle had grown up hating muggles. The few people who had been kind to him- the person who had taken him away from the orphanage- had been magical. Thus, his endless quest to rid the world of what he considered the bane of humankind: muggles. To do this, he needed power, and he became so wrapped up in his quest for power that I think he lost track of why he was looking for it. Potter, he understood from the prophesy, was in his way to get more power. So he wanted to get rid of him. And now he was on this fanatic hunt to get rid of Potter, and I don't think he thought very often of why he was doing it all. His sole intent was to get rid of Potter, get more power. That was all he wanted to do. That was what worried me so much. Killing Potter- that quest would end one day. Either he killed Potter or got himself killed trying to. But a quest for power never ends. When someone wants power, they are never satisfied by what they achieve. More, more, more- Voldemort will never think he has enough power, and I thought, therefore, that he ought to be gotten rid of while it was still humanly possible to.

This view, of course, was not shared by anyone else in the clearing with me, and I was not stupid enough to try telling one of them what I thought. Not even someone like Zabini, my best friend. Voldemort had brainwashed all of these people to think the way he did- they were all on this goose chase to kill Potter, and none of them had had serious thoughts about what would happen when that was finally done. The endless search for more power would, if it hadn't most already, consume them all.

But what was I to do with such thoughts? I had no choice. I would serve Voldemort or I would die, and I would be no use to anyone dead.

I admit, I once thought of telling these things to Dumbledore. That was at the end of my fifth year, when my hormones were raging and I was more apt to do impulsive things. There had been a moment when I was stricken with terror at the prospect of receiving the Dark Mark and I had walked all the way to the dragon statue guarding the Headmaster's chambers before mentally kicking myself and returning to the dungeons. I could tell Dumbledore anything I wanted, and he might even believe me (though I doubted he would), but there was nothing he could do either. Either I could be an unhappy Death Eater or be chased the rest of my short life by my vengeful father. I don't know what he would do that could be worse than what he was already doing to me, but Lucius was a figure I had an ingrained fear of, someone I had feared my whole life. Because I had feared him as a child, I now feared him more that I probably would have if I had an outsider's view, but that was one of the few things about myself and my emotions that I could not control.

Shoving such things aside, I asked myself why I had to think such things in Voldemort's presence. As good at Legilemency as I was, if Voldemort wanted to break into my thoughts he probably could. No, I _know_ he could. So, instead, I considered who he could have possibly have turned that was close to Potter and Dumbledore.

I first and foremost excluded everyone in Gryffindor and most people in Hufflepuff. That left… well, who did that leave? There was Potter's girlfriend, Cho Chang, but I didn't think that she was that close to Dumbledore. She was, however, pureblood, and as close to Potter as one could hope. I cast her name aside for the moment while I examined others. Everyone seemed to be doing the same thing I was, and Voldemort just watched us, seemingly waiting for something.

_Well, _I thought,_ Potter _is_ friends with Finch-Fletchly and there is that boy who was Granger's boyfriend for a while… what was his name again…? _

But in the end, I excluded everyone. Either they weren't close to Potter or weren't close to Dumbledore or were both but totally out of the question- like Loony Lovegood. I hadn't entirely decided that it wasn't Cho Chang, but I doubted it.

But then Voldemort stirred, and the clearing silenced. True, no one had said anything aloud, but there had been murmuring upon the wind, as if it had wondered right along with those gathered there who this new person was.

"She comes," he said, "tonight- to receive the Mark." _She_? Female… perhaps it _is_ Chang… unless it's someone in Gryffindor… no, that's preposterous, who? More likely still, a Slytherin fifth… maybe _sixth_ year, as there were still some of those left unmarked…

"She is the most faithful servant I have had since Crouch, and her usefulness rivals his- for she has been feeding me information for a very long time." Voldemort smiled as he thought for a moment, and then continued. "I have known of her for a very long time. She, too, has known of me. Only recently, though, did I come forward to invite her to join us. She accepted readily." _Who is it, dammit??_ I was growing severely impatient. Was she going to come soon?

My question was answered in an instant, as a black-robed figure stepped into the ring of Death Eaters from behind Voldemort. She just stood there with her hood up, not moving, not making a sound, as all present stared at her. It was more silent than it had been the whole night, a silence untouched by time. Nobody moved; even the breeze stilled. Everybody wanted to know who it was. It must be someone great, they reasoned, to have been known by Voldemort for so long. I could sense their awe before they even knew who it was. I myself was extremely curious, but I felt none of the wonder that everyone else felt. I kept running through my mind, _Who could it be?_ For I could sense, somehow, that she was not a Slytherin. I don't know how I knew that, I could just tell. From the way she stood, the way she walked, she was not a Slytherin. But she was… very much like one.

Voldemort's face broke into a smile. He turned, slowly, and extended an abnormally long-fingered hand. "Welcome, my dear. It is good to see you again." She stepped forward and even though I could not quite make her face in the shadow of her hood I sensed that she was smiling. She took his hand in her graceful fingers, and let Voldemort lead her to the center of the circle. Then he released her hand, which fell to her side, and raised both of his own to the edges of her hood… and lowered it.

My heart stopped.

Bellatrix Lestrange did the unthinkable and gasped aloud.

Pansy Parkinson put a hand on my shoulder, and I think that she would have fainted clean away had I not grasped it sharply.

Voldemort smiled triumphantly, the expression on his face indicating that he knew he had already won his personal war against Potter.

"Hello, Tom," said Ginevra Weasley.


	3. Introductions

She received her Mark unflinchingly, a feat in its own. But then Voldemort touched her cheek and gave her a look that sent shivers down my spine. A look of apparent _wanting_. It was disgusting. She just smiled, and that… I didn't know what to think of it so I tried to think of something else.

"My friends, my followers, my faithful: this meeting has reached its end, and I bid you go now and do my will." It was the traditional line he fed us when there was nothing left to be said.

By sending us from him immediately instead of speaking about what Ginny was doing here, Voldemort exerted his power over us. The ways he wielded his command were often very subtle, and this was one such time- he was showing us who had the power by not allowing us to know more of what was going on.

But I was damned if I was going to let Weasley get into the Gryffindor Commonroom without at least talking to her.

When Voldemort announced one free to leave, one did not dally, lest one incur his wrath. No one would want to speak to anyone else in Voldemort's presence anyway, so there was truly no reason to linger. Voldemort stood in the same place he had been for most of the meeting, as he always did. It was up to us to seek each others' company if we wished to speak after the meeting, but we could not do so there.

There was only one place set aside for us to apparate to, just outside the school grounds- it was possible, of course, to apparate anywhere, but this was the closest you could get to the castle gate without being seen by the castle or the road leading up to it.

When I arrived with a _crack!_ and had stepped through the massive gates that watched over the castle in vain, I saw Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle (along with a slew of other people I could not identify individually from that distance in the dark) making their way up to the castle. Their hoods were down, the formality of the meeting left behind in the graveyard. Yet even here they dared not stay. As curious as I was about Weasley though they were, they were going up to the castle. But I was no fool. This would be the only time I would have to question the girl.

I didn't have to wait long. After about a minute, maybe two, a crack resounded through the night and Weasley stepped out from between the trees, hood down, and an expression on her face that was unreadable. She saw me immediately, but continued without pausing.

Weasley walked through the gates without turning towards me again, though I thought I saw a faint smile on her lips. It occurred to me that she was playing with me as I fell into step behind her.

"You want to ask me something," she called out from ahead of me.

"Is it that obvious?" I said teasingly. In truth, I wasn't quite sure _what_ precisely I wanted to know. I supposed that asking why she had done it would be a good start, but that was not what came out of my mouth. "How long have you known the Dark Lord?"

She paused and turned, clearly as surprised as I was at what I had asked, but my face was stoic.

"I have… well, a long time. Since the summer before my first year at Hogwarts." Weasley stepped off the trail leading up to the castle and began a beeline for a cluster of trees at the shores of the Black Lake. I followed. As we neared, I could make out a small glimmer on the far shore- the giant squid, napping in the shallows, the moonlight reflecting off of its wet, rubbery skin. She sat down, leaning against a large willow, her feet a few inches from the lapping water. I warily seated myself across from her, against a rounded boulder.

"I suppose it was all because of your father… though I don't think he realized what would eventually become of it when he gave me the diary."

"The diary!" I exclaimed, forgetting myself in my surprise.

"Yes, the diary. Through it, I came to know Tom Riddle; through him, I came to know Voldemort." She turned her head towards the lake, and the reflection of the moon on the water cast an ethereal glow on her pale skin. "Would you like me to tell you what really went on with the diary?"

"What really went on?" I was a little puzzled.

"I mean, I heard the fairy tale Dumbledore fed everyone- that he himself believed: I was a poor, innocent bystander who was forced to do horrible things because Voldemort was possessing me and it was a good thing Harry Potter, ever the hero, came to save the day at the last minute. Bullshit."

I couldn't help myself- I laughed aloud. That was actually the same view I myself had of many of things the-boy-who-just-had-to-play-hero did.

"Tell me, Weasley. What happened?"

And so she told me.


End file.
